The Art of Scars
by jmd0820
Summary: Walt, Vic, and scars


**The Art of Scars**

Another one shot. Summary: Walt, Vic, and scars. No real plot.

Spoilers apply for the series as well as the books as the idea sort of evolved from conversations in the book about how scars make better stories than tattoos.

"How old were you when you got this?"

Walt traced his index finger over the words across the inside of her arm. Vic glanced at the tattoo.

"Eighteen or nineteen."

He was lying on his stomach, one arm supporting his head.

"What made you get it?"

A small smile pulled at her lips as she rolled to mirror his position.

"The thought of pissing off my father."

Walt smiled in return. That sounded about right.

"Was it successful?"

Her smile erupted into a full grin.

"Hell yes. It was okay for my brothers. But, God forbid his daughter pull the same shit. Double standards and all."

Walt's hand still but remained in place on her arm.

"Daughters are…different. I mean…I've never had a son. But, I can't imagine I would've worried about a boy in the same way that I worried about Cady."

Vic's smile softened.

"I get that. I do. But…you can't have different rules. It's an unfair way to raise kids."

Vic sat up and pulled her knees up, bunching the sheets up as she moved.

"Nothing as badass as how you got those."

She reached out a hand and traced the long scars on his back. She knew the story now. She had implored him to give her the full version once on a night much like this one. When they lay together in the quiet of his bedroom. That was the manner in which most of their serious talks seemed to occur these days.

Walt shook his head.

"Badass isn't the word I would use."

Vic smiled, her hand lingering on his back.

"It might not have been the smartest move you've ever made, Walt. But, the love behind it…"

Her voice trailed off. Walt turned and sat up, her hand falling away.

"It wasn't love that made me go to Denver. I thought it was at the time. But…it was hate. A hate that nearly destroyed me and a few other people."

Vic rested her chin on her drawn up knees.

"I know there was hatred. But…there was love there, too, Walt. The love you had for your wife. The love Henry had for you when he came after you."

She had a valid point. Love came in many forms. And many levels.

Her eyes shifted to the scar on his upper arm. The one they both knew too well. She reached out and touched it.

"This is my personal favorite."

Walt made a face.

"You have a favorite?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Yeah. This one. I thought you were crazy. But…no one has ever done anything like that for me."

Walt reached up and placed his hand over hers on the scar.

"This one was out of love, too. I just…wasn't willing to admit it at the time. I told myself I would've done it for anyone. But…I'm not sure that's true. I think…that…was the first time I realized I had feelings for you. Or the first time I allowed myself to acknowledge it."

Vic leaned over and pressed a kiss to the spot.

"That's why it's my favorite. That is also the night I realized I cared about you more than I did my own husband. Not particularly proud of that. But it is what it is."

Walt sighed.

"You know I hate that phrase."

She kissed his arm once more and then flopped back onto her back, stretching her legs out.

"I know."

Walt's eyes ran down her form. To him, she was unquestionably beautiful inside and out. And there were times, like right now, he still had a hard time believing that she was his. That she chose him. And continued to choose him.

His eyes paused on her thigh. On her own scar. A scar he once held his hand over as the life seeped from her though his fingers. It was a frightening analogy. But, in hindsight, the thoughts didn't disturb him in the way the way they once had.

She was here. She was okay. She had healed. And had her own scar to show for it.

"You know…I also have a scar where I fell off my bike when I was ten."

Her voice broke into his thoughts. Of course, she knew what he was thinking. She usually did. He turned his eyes to hers.

"Well, this one…"

He touched the circular scar on her thigh.

"…is my favorite."

Her face grew serious.

"Why?"

The question seemed redundant. They had been here before. Right here in this moment discussing feelings, the past, the future. They weren't covering new territory. But, in the way that she knew him…he also knew her.

"Because this one…sealed the deal. It shouldn't have taken that. I'm not proud of it. But…I knew that night that being without you wasn't something I prepared for. I already knew I had feelings for you. Love you. But…this…was when I realized how much and that I had been…"

She could see him searching for the word.

"Dumb? Stupid? An ass?"

Walt chuckled.

"All of the above."

He lay back down beside her, his hand running up over her hip and her abdomen. He held her eyes the entire time. His palm finally slid around and planted itself on the bed beside her head. Leaning over he kissed her. She returned the kiss. Fervently. Before it could move any farther…before they lost control…he pulled back and rested his forehead on hers.

"I guess…scars are like your tattoos. Each one tells a story of a time and place. Some don't matter and some do."

She smiled up at him.

"They all matter."

End.


End file.
